


a hundred times easier

by couldaughter



Series: a star-sent sign that i'll be alright [1]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Communication, High School, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, No Noah AU, They Talk About Things! Imagine That
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21891478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couldaughter/pseuds/couldaughter
Summary: “Don’t worry about it,” said Michael. “I’m glad someone doesn’t think I’m fucked up.”“You’re not.”That’s all me, Alex thought.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: a star-sent sign that i'll be alright [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1577776
Comments: 9
Kudos: 129





	a hundred times easier

**Author's Note:**

> CW/TW: Self-harm (character deliberately aggravates pain from already existing injury), references to canonical major violence (The Shed), negative self talk, references to canonical child abuse

Michael kept his hand wrapped for graduation.

Alex tried not to stare during the ceremony, the entire agonising two hours of it, but he was finding it hard to tear his eyes away. He could still hear the _crack_ echoing whenever his mind started to drift.

Not even the short walk across the stage helped; dad caught his eye from the audience, a stoney-faced reminder of exactly how much control Alex had over his future.

It was only after he’d taken off the gown and managed to find a quiet corner to drink some probably-spiked punch that he managed to switch off for a few minutes. Liz found him a little while after that, her own solo cup half empty. 

“Alex!” She slid onto the floor beside him, wrapping her free arm around his neck and slinging one leg over his knee, pinning him down. “Whatcha doing all the way over here? The cool people corner is filling up.”

She gestured across the room to Maria and Isobel Evans, who waved back. They looked like they were having a good time, shuffling in a vague sort of waltz to KT Tunstall’s greatest hits.

Alex was glad somebody was.

He shrugged. Liz narrowed her eyes.

“You alright?” Her serious voice had changed a lot since they were kids. It was a lot more comforting than it had been back when he was eleven and she spent a lot of their hanging out time forcing him to do quizzes in Seventeen magazine.

He shrugged again. “Not really,” he said, voice hoarse. 

Liz frowned. “Jesus, Alex, your throat sounds _rough._ Are you sick? Do you need me to get Rosa to drive you home?”

“It’s fine,” lied Alex. “Don’t bother Rosa, I know she’s got a lot going on right now.” 

His throat ached sharply. It had hurt on and off since the shed, understandably, bruises forming vivid purple high on his neck. They were barely covered by the collared shirt he’d pulled on for graduation, the only plain white one left in his closet. 

Dad had thrown out all his makeup the morning after, when Alex was too bruised to even try to contest him. The clothes were definitely next on the list, just before Alex himself.

“She’s doing really well,” said Liz, lit up with pride. “Two months sober. Dad’s so happy I swear he’s gonna steal her chip and hang it right next to the business license.”

It was so easy to love Liz, Alex thought. She could always tell exactly what he didn’t want to talk about.

“Hey, that’s awesome,” he said. “Tell her congrats from me. I, uh, don’t know if I’ll be able to see her.”

“You going somewhere, Manes?” Liz asked, voice deliberately light.

Alex glanced at the floor. His shoes, polished to a military shine, were a full size too small. He hadn’t worn them since Flint shipped out.

“Alex?”

He shook his head. He couldn’t make himself look up. “Dad’s, uh, made up his mind on it.”

It was a struggle not to touch his throat, to keep himself in the moment. 

Liz was probably frowning. They’d known each other long enough that Alex was pretty sure he could feel it in the air. 

Unwilling to subject himself to the rest of the conversation, he fled, twisting under Liz’s arm and making a beeline for the bathrooms. Historically, this had never actually prevented Liz from following him, but it would at least slow her down.

He could hear her cursing as she tugged at her high heels. She’d picked platform sandals for graduation, perfect for towering over a number of shitheels in their grade but not so good for running after errant friends.

The bathroom door swung shut behind him. Alex sighed in relief as he locked himself in the one empty cubicle.

Roswell High was a low-graffiti school compared to most, Alex was pretty sure, but that didn’t stop the boy’s bathroom from being covered floor to ceiling in the most entry level homophobia you could imagine.

Well, that and about four thousand dicks. Never let it be said that New Mexico was without artists.

It was easier to breathe without the weight of his father’s gaze constantly on him, assessing and finding him severely lacking. Alex pressed his back against the cubicle wall and hissed in satisfaction as the bruises on his back flared with pain. 

He kept thinking about the way Michael’s hand had looked, wrapped in bandages with thin red lines snaking up his wrist. An infection on top of the glimpses of bone Alex had seen when his father had — when the hammer — when _it_ happened didn’t promise anything good for the future.

The principal had congratulated Michael on his scholarship. Michael had smiled widely and offered his left hand to shake. Alex, waiting in the wings for his own walk across the stage, had barely stopped himself from throwing up.

His own walk, as it happened, had been fine. He got a decent GPA in the end, good enough for college if he’d wanted it. If what he wanted had ever mattered at all.

The bathroom door slammed open. Alex jumped, slamming his head against the wall hard enough to see stars.

“Jesus Christ,” said Michael Guerin. The guy really did have cosmically bad timing.

Alex pulled his knees to his chest and hoped like hell Michael wouldn’t say anything more.

His wish was not granted.

“I know you’re in here, Alex,” Michael continued, out of breath. The faucet came on, making the kind of comforting white noise Alex often found himself craving on long nights.

Alex didn’t say anything back, obviously. He’d caused enough damage.

A slow rasping noise came through the cubicle door. Michael’s shoes came into view, along with his dress pants and his left hand, resting in his lap. Alex swallowed heavily, the smell of something chemical sharp in his nose.

“It’s a real party out there, you know,” said Michael, as if this was a normal way conversations happened. “Iz is dancing with every girl in the grade, she’s like the lesbian Casanova.”

Isobel was allowed to do that kind of thing, Alex thought. Everyone took her being gay like a joke, like the way she felt was somehow not real. It was different than how he got treated, but not any better, really. He’d heard the way Kyle’s so called friends talked about her, when she was just a little too far away to hear it.

“She would,” said Alex, quietly. His throat really fucking hurt, and not just from the aggravated assault. 

Michael twitched in surprise. His left hand followed, a spasm travelling down from elbow to wrist.

“Don’t spook me like that, Manes,” he said. “I was startin’ to think you weren’t even in here. Thought maybe you’d left your shoes to rot and climbed out the window.”

“I thought about it,” Alex replied. “But these pants are too tight. I’d probably end up bare assed halfway out. Don’t need to give Valenti any more ammunition than he already has.”

It was the most he’d said in one sentence since dad let go of his throat. It hurt like absolutely nothing else, words dragging themselves out of his mouth like rusty nails.

Michael snorted softly. “What a pretty sight,” he said, something admiring in his tone.

Alex felt sick. It wasn’t a particularly abrupt realisation. He’d been feeling sick on and off more or less his whole life, stomach clenching at every sudden shift in mood. “What are you doing here, Guerin?”

“Can’t a guy check in on the guy whose cherry he just popped?” Michael asked.

“We’re ignoring the obvious then,” said Alex. His chest hurt. 

Michael shrugged. Alex couldn’t see his shoulders, but Michael was the kind of guy who shrugged with his whole body. “I’ve had worse.”

He sounded brittle, though. Like he might snap if the wind touched him.

“I doubt it,” Alex replied, unthinking. He winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean —”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Michael. “I’m glad someone doesn’t think I’m fucked up.”

“You’re not.” _That’s all me,_ Alex thought. 

They sat in silence for a couple seconds. Not letting himself think about it, Alex reached up and unlocked the door. It swung inwards, banging against his shins and letting his thoughts clear for just a moment, in the flash of pain that followed.

Michael smiled at him. “Hey, handsome,” he said. 

Alex stared at him. He looked fucking tired, more than anything, curls tamed into something approaching a style and ill fitting suit jacket pressed within an inch of its life. His eyes were heavy.

“Your hand,” he said eventually, stupidly, eyes drawn to it like a moth to a particularly guilt inducing flame. “Is it —”

“Iz and Max are taking care of me,” Michael offered. He looked down at his lap, at the bandages that were turning yellow in the center. “I don’t have insurance, so we strip mined the CVS and snuck a bunch of hooch outta the Evans’ drinks cabinet.”

“That’s not what I meant,” snapped Alex. He shut his eyes, took a deep breath. “Sorry. Sorry. Uh, I mean, does it feel —”

“Functional? Not really,” said Michael. “But the fingers are straight now. Only part of me that is.” He winked, the gesture somewhat empty. It was kind of typical Michael, trying to get a laugh out of horrifying shit. “It hurts like fucking nothing else, but it’ll be alright. Iz reckons I’ll be back on the guitar by spring break.”

Eight months away. Fuck, fuck, _fuck._

Alex felt his throat closing. The sound of the hammer coming down echoed in his ears. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, raw and wretched. “It’s my fault, I should’ve done something, I should’ve _known._ ”

Michael blinked.

“Known what?” he said, genuinely baffled. “That your dad was going to commit a hate crime? Fucking hell, Alex, that’s not on you. It’s on your fucking bastard homophobe of a father.”

“I should’ve guessed,” said Alex. “It’s not like it’s the first time.”

At that, Michael just — froze.

“ _What_?”

Alex looked at his shoes. They were still shining just as brightly, pinching his feet just as bad. “I — I just mean, it’s not an isolated incident. I should’ve planned for it. Should’ve found somewhere safe.”

“We can save the shoulda, coulda, wouldas for some time when we’re not talking about your _shitheel father breaking your bones_ ,” Michael hissed. 

Alex tucked one arm between his knees and his chest. It was an old comfort technique, one he’d developed the day Harlan burned all his stuffed animals on the fire pit out back. “He’s my father,” said Alex. “I owe him some respect.”

“No you fucking do not,” said Michael. “He broke half the bones in my hand and left you with enough bruises it looks like you got _hanged_ , Alex. Save the respect for someone who’s earned it.”

“Like you?” Alex asked. He meant it to sound sarcastic, biting. Instead it came out almost painfully sincere.

“If you like,” said Michael. He looked unbalanced, though, like he hadn’t expected Alex to turn so easily. “You’re eighteen now, man. You can do whatever the fuck you want.”

“No, I can’t,” said Alex.

“Yes, you can,” Michael replied, because he’d learned how to argue from a brother and sister who were better at bickering than actually building a defence. 

“No, I really fucking _can’t_ , Michael,” said Alex. He looked up again, met Michael’s gaze. “I signed enlistment papers. I’m shipping out next month.”

Michael — didn’t say anything. He pushed himself to his feet, one-handed, and left.

Alex sat for a little while, feeling nothing. It wasn’t really surprising, to be honest. There were only so many betrayals someone could be expected to tolerate before they gave up on him for good.

He sat for long enough that Max fucking Evans came in, somewhat wild around the eyes.

“Alex Manes,” he said, overly formal as always. “My brother really fucking needs to talk to you.”

“Bad news,” said Alex. “He already did, and I just made things worse.”

Max gave him a look of deep confusion. “He came by the table. Said he was heading out to the bleachers for a smoke. Asked us to tell you where he was, if you came by. Said you had some big news you might want to discuss.”

“Can’t help noticing that I didn’t come find you, and yet here you are,” said Alex.

“He looked rough,” said Max. “Rougher than, uh, a couple nights ago.”

“His hand?” Alex asked. Max nodded, eyes wide. “Yeah. That was my dad.”

Max’s face clouded. It was weird, seeing him angry. The Max that Alex had crossed paths with all through high school had reminded him of a puppy more than anything else.

“I already apologised,” said Alex. “No need to punch me.” He backed up slightly, pushing himself up the wall until he could stand, dizzy, on his own two feet.

“Why would I punch _you?_ ” Max asked, apparently baffled.

Alex looked the other boy up and down. He was wearing the same suit he had to prom, bolo tie secure around his neck, shoes already scuffed from the trials of graduation. Liz had told him, quietly, about how he’d offered to join her on her road trip, full of hope and void of expectations.

“Great question,” said Alex. “Where did you say Michael was, again?”

He got to the bleachers in record time, the vice-principal’s shout of _No running in the hall_ echoing behind him. Michael was sat on the third row up, chin in his good hand, staring out towards the football field.

It was a clear evening, the sky a tapestry of stars. A cloud drifted idly across the moon.

“Hey,” said Alex. He slid onto the bench beside Michael.

“So,” offered Michael. He glanced up at the sky above. “Air Force?”

“Yeah.” Alex so badly wanted to touch him. “I’ve spent my whole life waiting for it to happen.”

“Not the same thing as wanting,” Michael replied.

“No, it’s not.” Alex gave in and rubbed his throat. It made the pain spark up again, felt a little like the hand was back around his neck and squeezing.

Michael sat quietly for a moment. His eyebrows were drawn down and in, thoughtful. His forehead wrinkled.

“You know I got a scholarship, right? UNM?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Alex. “Everyone knows. The principal basically drooled all over you.”

“Gross,” said Michael. “But, uh, yeah. It’s in Albuquerque. You could, um. You could come with. Go AWOL. See the sights New Mexico has to offer.”

Alex stopped. He turned to look at Michael, illuminated by the floodlights of the playing field. His curls were golden in this light, he thought. His hands twitched as he thought about how it had felt to run his fingers through them.

Going AWOL was a big fucking deal. Alex didn’t know if it would count if he left before his enlistment was properly codified, but if it was — it wasn’t a small thing. It was the kind of thing that left you in military prison.

“You sure about this?” Alex asked. 

“Nah,” said Michael. “Sure’s boring. I like a little spice in my life.” But he smiled at him softly, eyes kind, and Alex thought maybe Michael liked to lie his way through his kindest moments. Liked to pretend life had made him harder to hurt, harder to reach.

“Then yeah,” said Alex. He thought about the enlistment papers, locked away in the desk drawer he’d learned to pick years before. About the wardrobe full of clothes he might be able to save. About the look his father would have on his face when he found Alex’s bed empty, his suitcase gone. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

He also thought, expansively, about the way Michael was looking at him, eyes full of something he was scared to put a name to. The feeling of Michael’s palm on his cheek as he kissed him right there on the bleachers, in the stadium lights, under the stars. The way he relaxed into Alex’s chest, climbed onto his lap and bracketed him with his knees. The fact that, if they really pulled this thing off, they might spend years feeling this way.

It felt pretty fucking cosmic, actually. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is, of course, from Two Slow Dancers by Mitski.
> 
> Noah not existing actually changes so much of canon I am a little afraid to broach it in an author's note but suffice it to say, they are better off. Maybe he will appear as a human later on? Who knows. Who knows...
> 
> Watch this space for a potential sequel/sidequel/continuation! I love the concept of this AU greatly, not least the potential for alien shenanigans and dumb university hijinks alongside the hideous angst this show gifts us with on the reg.
> 
> Find me on twitter/tumblr @dotsayers! I like bad tv shows and bad jokes.


End file.
